Wings Like An Angel
by madelinesticks
Summary: I was prompted for winged!Hannibal.
1. Chapter 1

Will was in awe of Hannibal. He had been in awe of Hannibal for a little while, perplexed by the other man, fascinated, but now his awe had multiplied on a massive scale. Hannibal had been so slow in removing his tie and his suit jacket, then in removing his shirt. He wore no undershirt, and Will was left swallowing as he stared at Hannibal's naked skin.

"I am showing you this, Will, because it is important." Will and Hannibal had been fucking for a few months now, and Hannibal saw Will in his nightmares, saw him when he was soaked with sweat and screaming for mercy.

The exchange of trust made something pound in Will's heart, but _fuck_, Hannibal couldn't have been telling the truth. It must have been some stupid lie, a _prank_, despite how out of character that would be for the man.

Hannibal turned around, showing Will his back. Will gasped when they unfurled, sudden and black and thickly feathered. His knees went a little weak, and he nearly dropped to the floor. Hannibal turned back, his head a little tilted to the side as he watched Will's expression. Hannibal must have had a wingspan of at least eight feet, and Will took in a few heady breaths, staring.

They were beautiful. Hannibal's wings were large, but they curled in so his shoulders were partially hidden. The feathers were clean, black and sleek enough that in the light they shone a little. "Amazing." Will whispered, and a thousand thoughts came to him at once: the idea of the weight at his shoulders, the idea of spreading wings and feeling the stretch of easy muscles, the idea of being in flight and feeling wind on his face and his feathers.

Will shook his head, bringing himself out of it. Then, he took a few steps forwards, so he was directly in front of the other man. "You may touch them." Hannibal gave the permission Will was looking for before he asked, and Will reached forwards slowly to comb the gentlest of hands through the inner feathers of his right wing.

Hannibal gave a short hum of sound. The wings were just like Hannibal: imposing, powerful, and absolutely beautiful to look at. "How...?"

"That is a story for another time." Hannibal said quietly, pulling Will to his chest and curling a hand in Will's hair. Then, he curled the wings around them both, so that the black feathers brushed across his back. They were in sudden darkness, the wings a more effective cocoon than any desperate fort of bedsheets Will had tried to set up in the throes of sleep deprivation and impending nightmares.

"Wow." Will murmured.

"Yes." Hannibal agreed. "I could take you flying." The offer made something in Will scream a "yes", but other parts did not. Will's knees buckled, but Hannibal caught him. They were still in complete darkness, and Will could hear Hannibal's breaths as well as his own.

"Please." Will murmured. "Yes, please, I- _yes_." Hannibal was smirking when he carefully let light filter in, parting the curl of his wings and removing the cocoon.

"Bed, I think." Hannibal murmured.

"Can you do that? Again, curl- curl your wings-"

"I can." Will kept a tight hold on Hannibal's hand as they moved into the bedroom, and continued to cling to Hannibal throughout the night. Hannibal allowed it: Will struggled with reality at the best of times, and it wasn't as though winged men were particularly usual. He stroked through Will's hair later, as the younger man slept. That was, of course, why the information was being staggered.

He was a fallen angel, after all: no sense upsetting him with information like _that_ too soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Will had fallen very much in love with Hannibal's wings. Hannibal found that both a little amusing and comforting – if Will formed an attachment now, he would be less likely to flee later. Will could watch Hannibal for hours, eyes concentrated on the spread of his wings and the structure of them, the pretty spread of the feathers.  
Hannibal allowed Will to groom his wings. While it was more difficult, Hannibal had previously preferred to do it himself, but Will was careful and eager to please, and by now his hands didn't shake when he did it.  
He'd sit cross-legged or on his knees behind Hannibal, who sat on the edge of the bed, and would comb through the feathers with great care, milking oil from the sensitive glands at the base of Hannibal's wings to slick them and better clean them. Will liked the scent of the oil, Hannibal had noticed, and would inhale more deeply than usual as he groomed the wings.  
In fairness to the boy, Will liked everything about grooming Hannibal. Hannibal allowed him to keep the feathers that came loose – the first time Hannibal had dropped a feather into Will's hand the boy had looked ready to cry, thinking something was wrong, that Hannibal was ill or that his wings were damaged. Silly boy wasn't difficult to worry.  
And it was so much easier to get him to sleep now. As soon as they were encased within the warm darkness Hannibal's wings could offer, Will would drop off to sleep with cheek pressed to Hannibal's shoulder, deeply. No nightmares, no dreams, no screaming, sweaty Will at four o'clock in the morning or some other ungodly hour. Yes, Hannibal liked that part particularly.  
Will was so worshipful too, and that, Hannibal had decided, could definitely continue. Will would treat him carefully, worshiping Hannibal's skin with his mouth, pressing kisses to the neck, his chest, his stomach. Will treated Hannibal like he was far above him, like he was a god in comparison – and, Hannibal thought, that was quite true.


End file.
